


Crossroads

by NeverComingHome



Category: Anthropomorfic, Original Work
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At pivotal moments in a person's life their subconscious animates an inanimate (Anthros) to help them through it.  These are a few of their stories.</p><p>Will contain f/f, m/m, f/m, human/Anthro and gen short stories and deal with real world issues described in notes before the story. Gender/sex of characters and Anthros is determined literally by the flip of a coin, but I suppose if you have any requests just drop a line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inspiration (f/f)

**Author's Note:**

> F/f Human/Anthro.
> 
> Luce will never stop being in love with Inspiration.

Luce used to run a web comic, intern at an art studio and spend every red cent on paint and clay, trying to find a medium that fit. She’d been staying with a working model named Courtney Arnolds who was helplessly in love with her. Luce regularly ditched her for artists who sat up all night talking about abstract impressionism and overrated sculptures by the privileged one percent who wouldn’t be satisfied until they could bronze self expression and put it on their shelves. Listening to them talk made her feel worldly and sophisticated, as she drank wine that tasted like nail polish remover and agreed with everything that came out of their mouths, even when she knew they were wrong. 

One day a couple of them suggested she ditch Courtney and join them on a trip to Toronto. Inspiration showed up to help her through it. She wasn’t really a woman, but she was the first female mouth Luce ever kissed. She had short spiky hair, a Brazilian accent, was covered in tattoos and blew on Luce's earlobe until she twitched. Luce let her get beneath her shirt in the backseat of a van that dropped them off at an independent art festival in Edmonton where she sold her first painting. So caught up in the moment she didn’t realize until the next morning that Inspiration had disappeared.

The critics called Luce a revelation. She moved back to the states and turned out art like a one woman factory. Her style was absurd, structured, dangerous and bright. She got an agent who demanded more of it each time he saw her. He took her to restaurants where the table cloths touched the floor and the waiters learned the names of their patrons and didn’t write down orders. She ran into Courtney at one of them and kissed her under the moonlight while their agents talked about contracts. They moved back in together and started referring to themselves as wives in conversation, but agreed to wait until it was legal before looking at engagement rings.

Then one day it was gone, that thing, that thing that made Luce pick up a chisel or a brush or a camera. She held a party during which she grabbed mud from the backyard and threw it on a sheet while boys in Rastafarian hats and girls wearing bandanas for shirts called her brilliant. She didn't know how to tell Courtney how she struggled to come up with an idea that hadn’t belonged in someone else’s head first. Instead, she promised her agent a new metal work, took the advance and ran for an abandoned factory out in the sticks with only a duffle bag of clothes and non perishables, matches and cartons of cigarettes. She made a fire in the middle of an assembly line, threw her cell phone into it and roasted marshmallows over the flames. 

“You are so dramatic,” Inspiration laughed.

“What are you doing here?”

“You tell me.”

Luce kissed her. Inspiration yanked Luce’s hair out of its ponytail and mussed it. 

“I’ve been lost without you.”

“You’ve been fine.”

Luce dropped to her knees, tugging Inspiration’s skirt down and slid a hand up her inner thigh.

“I peaked too early.”

Inspiration tasted like purple prose, like the canvas Luce ripped between her teeth when she had a good idea and too much space to work with. She stroked Luce’s cheek and let her fill her mouth with the taste, moaned sonnets and notes no musician had written while her back moved back and forth against a landscape of a deer with mountains for eyes and a horned tongue etched onto a rusty label maker with ash and rock. 

~*~

“I should’ve kept working at the studio instead of going out on my own.”

“Maybe.” Inspiration was already pulling up her skirt. Everything was a rush with her. She got something in her head, wanted it right away, then looked for something (someone) else to touch and move. Luce stood and pulled Inspiration's back against her front, kissed the side of her neck. “You haven’t got any less impatient. I tried to tell you back then too.”

“You wanted it just as bad. God forbid I turn you down.”

“You were so innocent, how I could I walk away? All that potential…”

Luce unzipped her pants , “I’ve still got potential.”

“Mhm,” Inspiration reached a hand behind her to pat Luce’s cheek, “and all the time in the world.”

“The world isn’t enough.”

“Now there’s a title, go write it down.”

~*~  
Luce had walked three miles to town and back for a bit of canvas and paint. She set it up in the grass and tried make the exact brown of Inspiration’s eyes. Inspiration sat naked to the side of it, arms wrapped around her legs, the sun on her like it thought she was the horizon on which it was meant to rise. 

“Are you going to stay here forever?”

“I might. Hermits have got it all figured out.”

“Except for that lack of human interaction causing psychosis bit, sure.”

“Who needs people when I’ve got you?”

Inspiration paused, choosing her words carefully. “I won’t always be here. What happens when I stop showing up and all you have left are pretty pictures and an eviction notice?”

“I’ll kill myself.”

“Luce.”

“How does anyone go back to ordinary after they’ve tasted genius? I’ve fallen in love with Inspiration, who else stands a chance?”

“Courtney Arnolds,” she answered with hesitation. “Did you say goodbye? Tell me you did.”

“I did.” Luce dabbed the paintbrush into a splash of black and redefined a line. “I sent her a text.”

“You cad.”

“I know.” She walked towards Inspiration. “It’s not like I fell apart when you left.”

“What do you call this? I don’t last forever, sooner or later you’ll have to make a decision. Either you can stay here and wait for me to leave you, knowing I’ll never return, or you can find something else to be passionate about." She looked up at her. "What'll it be?”

“You.” She pinned Inspiration to the grass, using the brush to open her mouth and wet its end on her tongue. “I’ll always choose you.”


	2. Fixed (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen/No pairings. 
> 
> Lawrence is a boxer, Dance wants him to stay one. 
> 
> Contains: Descriptions of violence(as sport) and permanent physical harm to main character.

He’d been throwing fights for a little over a month when Dance showed up. If anything Lawrence figured she was late. She found him doing push-ups on the railing of the steps leading up the apartment he shared with a law student who sneezed whenever he told a lie and used the speed bag almost as much as Lawrence did. 

She wore a grey track suit and purple sneakers, had short blonde hair and skin the color of wet desert sand that probably glowed like honey when it was dewy with sweat. Lawrence didn’t notice her at first, counting “1-2-1-2-1-2” with his teeth clenched. 

“How will you ever know how many you’ve done if you count like that?”

He hopped onto his feet, wiping his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “That’s really not the point. Who are you?”

“Dance.” She held out a hand and he shook it. “May I join your work out?”

“I was about to go for a jog.”

“Excellent.”

There was a park he liked up the street. It ran around a lake filled with ducks that yelled constantly and flapped their wings at the children who played at a jungle gym centered in a dip, off to the side, you had to slide in to get to it-much to the disdain of their parents who saw only stains they’d have to scrub at when they returned home. Around the lake was a jog path, around the path was a small strip of trees and grass and beyond that a highway which encircled the park, creating a spiral with each ring picking up where the other ended. There were more quiet places to run, but Lawrence preferred Homa the best. He grew up in the city and was used to children shouting, horns blaring and animals snickering amid it all like they owned the place. 

Dance held it together for all of one mile, the next thing Lawrence knew she had pulled ahead of him, taking large steps that made her look as if she were lunging in fast forward. Midway she switched to hopping and after that spinning around at his side while steadily moving forward.

“What are you doing?”

“Exercising.”

“That’s not exercising, that’s fooling around.”

“Fooling around is exercising,” she winked, “or haven’t you heard?”

“Listen, if you’re gonna be here, be helpful. I’ve got a match tomorrow and I don’t need to be distracted by... what are you doing?"

“It’s called free form, pay attention, use it. Perhaps you’ll learn something.”

“I’ve learned enough.”

“And so you manage to sum up yourself in a sentence. Ignorant, egotistical, hypocritical, pretentious.”

“Pretentious?” He laughed. “Dance is the most pretentious thing on the face of the planet."

“Oh please.” She waved him off and began jogging, but he wouldn’t be deterred.

“It is. Point your toes three inches to the left instead of the right and you’re a failure. If you don’t eat, sleep and dream it you’re not really committed. You make it up as you go along and expect everyone else to follow the same rules better than you can.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I take discipline.”

“Oh please” he mimics, “It’s like politics without words, if you can convince the other person it has meaning you can flap your arms around and call it the Macarena, but it still has value because nobody was stupid enough to do it first. The only real measure of your worth is how far back you can bend those pretty little legs of-”

She slapped him. “I came here to help you, Lawrence, you‘re the one who wanted me here. Why of all the inanimates, me? Think about it.”

With that she took off, stretching her arms out to the side while she ran forward like a plane on the runway. Lawrence bit the side of his tongue and started jogging out of the spiral.

~*~  
He was a happy kid for the most part. He’d made it through a grueling un-cute period that lasted up until his last year of high school. Content with the fact that he’d probably never have a girlfriend or more than a couple friends he’d spent his free time watching movies while running on a treadmill and working out. By the time he graduated he was no longer overweight, had cut his long curly hair to the skin so it wouldn’t get in his face while he ran and had a job at a shoe store that had a 50% employee discount on the new shirts and trainers. 

The first time a girl had winked at him while he took her shoe size he’d looked over his shoulder to see who she was flirting with then blushed when he realized he was the only one there. His parents were in debt so college was out, but he didn’t mind working two jobs. He felt independent, well liked, learned to make conversations with strangers and used it to his advantage. 

When he was twenty-five he became the director of a boxing studio. He took classes in physical education on the side and it was while he was going at a punching bag like it was the new guy he just hired who’d been caught stealing that Jeffrey had walked in.

Lawrence loved the circuit, he shook his limbs out before a fight and let the rage build up then focused it at the last minute and came into the ring out for blood. Even if it took a couple rounds the other guy always fell under the same move. A punch right in the middle of his face that made him lean one way then the other like a swaying boat before falling onto his back. 

Tick-Tock they called him, because it was only a matter of time before his opponent passed out.

~*~  
Dance sat in the front row, hands folded primly in her lap. Lawrence walked past her as if she wasn’t there, squeezing water into his mouth and jumping in place. Jeffrey’s rubbed his shoulders.

“Clean fight, tonight, Tick.”

“Yeah?” He waited for them to finish wrapping up his hands and sliding the gloves on. “So I can drop this dude?”

The dude in question was in blue shorts and currently flexing his muscles to his side of the crowd like a moron.

Jeffrey watched him with the same annoyance, “Drop that show-boater.”

“Hoo-rah.”

The referee placed a hand flat on both men’s chest, the rules echoing and ringing in Lawrence’s ears. 

“You boys understand?”

“Lock and load.” Blue shorts said.

“Yes, sir.”

The referee smiled at Lawrence, “Well then…fight!”

~*~  
“Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!” The crowd shouted as blue shorts swayed back and forth on his feet, trying to find his equilibrium. “Tick! Tock! Tick!”

Lawrence swung his fist directly between the other man’s eyes and the crowd erupted into applause.

“KNOCK OUT. LAWRENCE KIMPBELL.”

~*~  
When he came home his roommate was getting drunk with Honesty, blubbering on about bar exams and judges who voted independent. Honesty offered Lawrence and Dance a shot, but they both turned it down.

“I don’t understand why Honesty has to be so brutal with that kind.” Dance shook her head at the pair. “It borders on sadistic.” Lawrence nodded then winced. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I need a bath and a stretch.”

“I’ll help.”

He sat in the middle of the living room floor and pressed his feet together in butterfly pose. Dance turned on the television and stood on his thighs, pressing down on his shoulders until his muscles finally creaked and he felt the blood rush into the numbed parts of him. 

“You are a magnificent fighter.”

“Thanks.” He laid down, banging the back of his still tense legs against the carpet.

“Your foot work is incredible. When you dipped to avoid the right hook and then came up beneath his chin while your torso was turned the other way? What finesse! You were hardly touched at all.”

He laughed, “Well not entirely.” and gestured to the bruise on the side of his head.

“But a flesh wound. He got it far worse.”

“Good. I hate it when fighters like him come out with no respect whatsoever. My first year Jeffrey made me buy drinks for every guy that knocked me out.”

“I bet it kept you humble.”

“Hell yeah it did.” He sat up to find her in downward facing dog, coming up so that her hips nearly touched the ground and her face was lifted towards the ceiling. “Will you still be here in a few days?”

“I suppose. I didn’t find anything significant about what happened tonight,” she rethought her choice of words, “as far as helping you.”

“I get it. So you’ll come to my next match?”

“Try and stop me.”

Behind them Honesty was standing on the table, “The truth shall set you free young man.”

“Great, I look forward to seeing you with bail money when they lock me up! ”

Dance and Lawrence laughed and left the two to work it out.

~*~  
“Dirty.” Jeffrey told him.

“Why?”

“’Why?’ Because I’m your manager and I told you so that’s why,” he hissed.

“I’ve got someone here.”

“Who?”

“Dance.”

“Good, do your dance, kid, make it rain hundred dollar bills and drop when Ellis hits you in the first round.” Lawrence didn’t reply, unable to keep his eyes off Dance who smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Jeffrey smacked his cheek. “Kimpbell.”

“What?”

“Drop in the first round.”

Lawrence swallowed hard then nodded. “Alright.”

Jeffrey let out a breath, “There’s my man. I don’t know what that Anthro is here about, but it’s not this. Pull yourself together.”

~*~  
Ellis was a lousy fighter, he couldn’t knock out an ostrich with its head in the sand. All the money was riding on Lawrence except for a few betters in the know. He’d make his rent off it if he could last a minute and a half without knocking the guy’s lights out. It was hard, but he’d trained himself to ignore his instincts. Ellis lifted his arm too high and Lawrence kept himself from striking his ribs. Ellis danced around him and Lawrence didn’t bring the back of his fist across his head to knock him off his feet. He caught the eye of Jeffrey who coughed into his left hand.

“Come on, Tick!” 

Lawrence shifted into an off kilter stance and slowly made like he was going in for a jab; Ellis took the bait. The last thing Lawrence saw was red fabric coming at him before he dropped face first.

 

~*~  
“Why’d you fake it?”

They were walking back from the fight through Homa. It wasn’t dark out yet, but getting there and the park was nearly empty. 

“I want to buy the studio,” he answered, deciding it was pointless to lie to her. “It’s the only way I can afford it.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed or, worse, banned and disgraced.”

“I don’t have any other choice. Boxing isn’t forever and I need the cash.”

“Nothing makes you happier than boxing and you’re ruining it for yourself. You’re taking the joy out of the one thing you love.”

“Maybe.”

“When you fight it’s an expression and the expression tonight made me weep.”

“Everything makes you weep,” she didn’t return his smile. “You want it all to be deep and artistic, but sometimes a fight is just a fight.”

“To some, yes, but not to you. I don’t look half as happy when I’m going through my form as you when you’re practicing your timing in the mirror. It’s not about the money or bragging rights, Lawrence, you love it.” He picked up a rock and skipped it across the water. “So you won’t listen? You’re going to keep fixing your matches for that pig Jeffrey?” He nodded. “You accept the consequences of your actions?”

Lawrence nodded, skipping another. When he looked away from the lake she was gone.

~*~  
The sign read "Clockwork Boxing Studio and Merch" and it was his. 

The match that had secured it for him had been his last. Jeffrey’s had wanted a TKO against an almost featherweight who would’ve fainted if Lawrence had put the tiniest bit of muscle into a block and so he’d taken the blows without ever throwing a punch. It hadn’t been recorded, but the people who were there knew it for what it was. If Lawrence had been in the right stance he wouldn’t have taken that fall, heard that sickening crunch, woken up in a hospital to the sound of family members shouting at Jeffrey.

Clockwork Boxing Studio with his name on the door. Lawrence flicked the brake off his wheelchair and rolled inside.


	3. Helpless (m/m)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> m/m established relationship
> 
> Domonic just wants to be happy.
> 
> Contains: Depiction of mental illness.

 

 

Domonic kissed his boyfriend before his eyes could open then again before he left the house. 

 

It was a routine and he always enjoyed the first kiss better, had always been fond of secrets. He liked meeting strangers and getting them to tell him things they wouldn't normally tell a stranger. It made him feel significant, different like it was a game he knew how to win even before he knew the rules. Meet someone in a bar, tell them something that was a little true to make him appear forthcoming then pry them with alcohol or carefully phrased questions. 

 

He kept all the secrets in a book with names or descriptions, had a record app on his phone  he could turn on with one hand.

 

“Hassel’s Pub Girl"/xmas

Can’t ride a bike, draws on her freckles

 

Justin/train station

Hates his father

Fears he’s becoming a dead beat dad to his own son

 

IRS  agent(7th&Pine)

Doesn’t like The Beatles, names other things he doesn’t like after them (dog his girlfriend picked out, glitchy electronics).

 

~*~

 

“There’s a guy sitting in the driveway,” Ed said. He was at the sink, draining the last bit of cereal into his mouth so the milk could drip freely off his chin. 

 

Domonic was transcribing a conversation into the composite notebook and didn‘t lift his head. “I thought I told you to keep your rent boys away from the house.”

 

Ed laughed hollowly and nudged the blinds apart with a bent finger. “Did you get your car back from the mechanic? Might be an Anthro.”

 

“Is he hot?”

 

“Don’t.“ Domonic grinned, shutting the notebook while Ed washed out of the bowl and left it in the sink which annoyed Domonic to pieces. He thought of seeing it there later, of cleaning an already clean bowl then putting it in the  dishwasher, then rinsing it off, leaving it to dry, then putting it in the cupboard for Ed to use late at night, wash off, then leave in the sink for the morning. It was these small things that drove Domonic crazy and yet he never once contemplated changing them. 

 

“Please don’t sleep with your car.” Ed turned around and rested his back against the sink, red and white checked boxers sliding a little off his hips. His eyes were narrowed at Domonic who was setting the notebook aside and coming over for a look out the window. “My dad makes enough jokes as it is about how you love that thing more than me. If you suck off an ‘84 convertible we’re done.”

 

“You’re inside him more than me, I think I should be the one jealous.”

 

Ed punched his shoulder, turning back around. The Anthro caught them staring and waved. Domonic nodded and Ed motioned him to come inside. He was older, with dark skin, hair cut close to the scalp and faded from dark to light with sideburns that cut along his jaw line and ended in sharp points. His eyes were large, sunken in and watery as a Beagles and the sweater outlined a body that might’ve caught the eye if it weren't hunched over with lanky arms ending at hands shoved into the pockets of his cargos. He looked like his name should be Thurgood or Winston, something distinguished and brooding. Domonic could see him in some existential play as a man who didn’t know he was immortal, wondering why his friends kept dying. 

 

Ed in contrast was a pudgy ball of light and fast talking, holding out his hand and blabbering on about he didn’t look at all like he’d imagined him.

 

“You said you were having trouble at work, right hon? Who better than your car to help you out?”

 

“Car?” The Anthro smiled slowly, his teeth white and sharp. Domonic was just behind Ed, unable to move,  as if the stranger was about to shift back a leg, leap over Ed, and tear out Domonic’s throat all while smiling that uncanny grin. He felt his mouth water and realized he’d bitten his tongue and it was blood not saliva swimming around his teeth. He swallowed it down.

 

“Mhm, take care of my guy today.”

 

“Oh yeah,” he didn’t look at Domonic while he spoke, “I’ll get him to where he needs to be. I always do.”

 

“Great.” Ed shook his hand again. “I’ve got to rush, but-” he looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend and laughed, kissing his cheek. “You alright? Dom?”

 

Domonic snapped out of it, putting on a half smile and wishing Ed a good day. Ed kissed him again, rubbing his stomach and nodding at the Anthro before heading towards the bathroom. Domonic turned, watching him, letting out a gasp when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

 

“You’re a great liar, still.”

 

“I learned from the best. Still fooling people left and right.”

 

“We’re two peas in a pod, Domonic, you and I. What should we do today? Write out a will? Binge the contents of the fridge then run until you puke it all up? Maybe just lie in the backyard all day and cry? Don't make me come up with everything.”

 

"I was going to see Dr. Al today.”

 

“Dr. Al’s an idiot. You know she’ll want to call up Ed if you let her know I’m back. They’ll put you on the pills again, remember those? You were in the bathroom, shouting at Ed through the door that you felt sick when really it was because it was your anniversary and you took so many to numb you out that you couldn’t get it up. Do you remember that?”

 

Domonic shoved his hands into his pajama pants, his voice a whisper, “Yes.”

 

“No, wait, maybe we should visit her then you can see  the disappointment on Ed’s face when he realizes you lied to him about who I really am and why I’m here. You can tell him why you won’t be going into work today and that you took out a loan to cover it up. Tell him you're talking to strangers because you can't talk to him anymore. Where’s your phone, hell, I’ll do it.”

 

Domonic shoves him away, but the Anthro turns him around and searches his pocket, laughing when the phone drops on the floor and instead pinning Domonic’s arms tight to his side to chuckle hot breath into his ear.

 

“Leave me alone, I don’t want you here.”

 

“You say that, but you never smile more than when I’m around.”

 

“Only because I don’t want anyone to know.”

 

“Know what?” He tightened his grip. “Say it, what Anthro do you call when everything feels wrong? Who am I, Domonic?”

 

He wrenched out of his grasp, falling onto his knees.

 

“Depression." His head thudded against the tile. "You're Depression."


	4. Falling(gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jade remembers why she hates the rain.
> 
> Contains: (accidental) death, homophobia

  
Jade was having a really spectacular dream about llamas when she was woken up by an incoherent whispering in her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly in hopes it would vanish, willed herself back into the frozen tundra where she’d been trying to hold an argument with a seal on the merits of vegetarianism.

“BOOM!”

If her bed was a little smaller she would’ve fallen out of it. As it was she only pushed herself upwards with such haste that she wound up on the other end of it with her blanket wrapped around her neck like a superhero’s cape. 

“Your kind always responds better to thunder. I was trying to be nice about it.”

“Oh god, you’re not an Anthro are you?” Jade extricated herself from the blankets and stumbled sleepily onto her feet. “I can’t take care of an Anthro today, not today. What are you?”

“Rain.”

“God I hate rain,” she muttered before she could stop herself. True to his essence Rain’s face dropped immediately and the blue streaks running their otherwise dark locks brightened as droplets began to thud loudly against the window. “Oh, no offense!”

“What do you mean, ‘no offense’. You hate me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Well this for one. I have to go out in the middle of nowhere to look at this stupid house because our stupid father-” She stopped herself, letting out a deep breath and pushing downward with her hands as if she were physically shoving her emotions to where they belonged. “I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I’m a little surprised to find you here is all.”

The rain outside began to ease up. “Apology accepted.”

“I guess I can’t leave you here by yourself, can I?”

“I tend to leave behind mold when I stay in one place for too long.”

Jade nodded. “I figured. Alright so I’m going to get dressed and we’ll try to get through the next twenty four hours as quickly and dryly as possible.”

Rain grinned. “Sounds great.”

“Great.”

As soon as Rain skipped out the door she fell onto her bed and screamed into the pillow.

~*~  
She wanted to call Evan and tell him it was all his fault. They were supposed to be looking at their childhood home together, acting as one another’s moral support, but two days before he was due to get on the plane he told her he was eloping with his boss’s secretary. He said it like he expected her to be proud of him for disobeying yet another of their parents orders-slash-commandments before the dirt over their graves had a chance to turn green. He said it like he’d forgotten what memories were in that wicked, crumbling house that had turned them into the sort of people who dreaded coming back to it. 

It was the stress probably, not it being a pivotal moment in her life, that had made Jade summon her animate inanimate. Rain. Even her own subconscious was working against her.

She glanced over at the man who couldn’t seem to keep quiet or still in the car. He rolled down the window to stick out his tongue, kept changing the radio to a place in between static and music because he claimed it sounded better that way and overall committed himself to being a complete distraction. In the three hours it took to drive out to the small patch of land she had swerved three times and been lured into an hour and a half long silence only to jump as Rain suddenly began asking millions of questions that she managed only to answer about half of.

“How’d your parents die?”

“My dad crashed a plane.”

“…on accident?”

“Look I know why you think you’re here, but you’re a person with thoughts and opposable thumbs now. You should wander around, enjoy yourself while I get things sorted out and after I’m done here we can go up to the mountains.”

“It’s freezing up there.”

“Or back into the city.”

“We just came from there.”

“We’ll go wherever you want.”

“Can we go hiking?”

“If there’s time.”

“Deal.”

  
~*~  
JEST. Jade, Evan, Sal, Tina.

She parked outside the gate and laid her palm flat on the crest. A light drizzle tapped a quiet tune on the plain brown jacket her mother had given her for Christmas. It had belonged to her when she went to the same private school she'd sent her children to. Jade only wore it because she intended on leaving it behind, dropping the suitcase of all the medals and awards she’d ever won into her old bedroom and never looking back.

If Evan were there he’d be going through the bag, laughing at her theatrics, suggesting they drop them along the path leading up the door in case the estate tried to swallow them up. The trees were wet, their branches reaching towards her with the same menacing welcome their fathers’ arms had when he was alive.

_Come closer if you dare_ , they said, _the worst that can happen is we tear you apart. Come closer._

“Creeeepy,” Rain sang. “You lived here?”

She pushed forward until the gate creaked open. “Yes.”

~*~  
Maybe it was because Rain was with her, but the two story felt less empty than when it was actually being lived in.

“Well, uh, it’s a house.”

She smiled and lead him up the stairs. “My dad bought it a few years before my mom had me. He always said why bother decorating when we were going to move, but we never did.”

The walls and floor were bare, only the essentials present. Family rooms differed from the guest rooms only by color scheme. Jade howed him Evan’s room first for which he’d chosen red and white. Rain watched in amusement as she pulled a suitcase from under the bed, opening it to reveal the band posters, framed pictures, stickers and other accoutrements her brother scattered around when his friends came over. Each night he’d pack it all away again, straight faced while their parents did their nightly sweep and wrote a letter grade on the whiteboard affixed to the wall above his desk.

“They graded you?”

“Yeah and if on Friday we had more B’s than A’s we’d lose our weekend privileges.”

“When did that start?”

“As soon as we were old enough to have our own rooms.”

“How long did you have your own rooms?”

“Since we were born.” She replaced the suitcase, unsurprised at the look on Rain’s face.

“My father’s mother worked at a boarding school, she raised him on campus where he met my mother whose father ran said boarding school.”

“Ouch.”

“Evan hated it here. He left home the day after he got his license and they didn’t even try to talk him into staying. I’d just started college and got a call from my mom asking if they could sign parental rights over to me so they could  keep tabs on him. They knew I’d do it and I did.”

“So he came to live with you?”

“No. A friend of our grandfather took him in and that was the last I heard until the friend died and left Evan all his worldly possessions which included a soda company that Evan sold to the highest bidder so he could travel around the world trying to be an architect.” They came upon the last door, but she paled at the sight of it. She touched the grain with the tips of her fingers and shook her head. “Let’s go downstairs.”

“But this is your room isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to check for anything valuable? They might’ve started using it for storage.”

“He didn't, let's go.”

“We have to at least check.”

“There's nothing in there.”

Rain pulled away from her. “This is your pivotal moment! We’ll walk in, crack a few jokes about your uptight parents then bag and tag our way out of here.”

Before she could grab at him again Rain kicked the rusted lock,stepped inside and immediately wished he hadn't.

**F for failure** , read the paint across the open glass leading to the balcony. **F for fuck up,  F for futureless F , F, F** ; and above her desk in all its pageantry:

**F for FAGGOT**

Rain’s eyes filled with tears as he took in the sight and outside the rain picked up again, the wind howled and Jade could feel droplets coming from the peaked ceiling.

“First winter break home they introduced me to a boy and I introduced them to a girl.”

Rain turned around and around to look at the F’s splashed in varying sizes across the walls. When he looked down a large one looked back through the layer of dust. She met him in the middle of the room.

“It was raining that day and Annette and I were undressing one another on the balcony when my mother walked in. She said ‘what the hell are you doing to eachother?’ and Annette laughed because I’d lied about coming out. She was the only out person I knew and I said anything to make her like me. My mom slapped her across the face.” Rain lifted his eyes from the letter. “I tried to separate them, but I couldn’t. Annette tripped on our clothes, grabbed my mom for leverage and they both fell, but Annette held on to the ledge and my mother didn’t. When my dad came in all he saw was me helping Annette in and my mom face down in the garden.” She looked past Rain to where it happened. “I tried to explain it to him, but the rain was so loud and he was screaming her name over and over and then he started screaming at me.” The drops began to quicken and the house groaned in response. “Now it’s mine. He left it to me in his will and Evan wanted to fix it up so I was wondering if I should tell him it was my fault our mom died. I've been hoping all these years he'd find out from dad so I wouldn't have to, but-"

Rain hugged her as a chunk of wood clattered behind them and a torrent of water rushed in, soaking them to the skin as she clutched the Anthro tight against her.

  
~*~  
Evan popped the tab on his soda and turned the bill of his hat towards the front to block out the noon glare.

“He was actually kind of upbeat. I mean it rains when it’s sunny out and the gardens,” she gestured at the bright plants and newly sprouted fruit trees around them, “have never looked better.” She kept digging, squinting past him, “Where’s that lovely bride of yours?”

“Keeping Curiosity busy. I’d hide your new kitten by the way, he convinced Whiskers to jump down a laundry chute the other night. I don’t know what he has against cats.”

 


End file.
